


Thieves Like Us

by Hi0ctane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Stiles, Criminal Masterminds, Hale Pack, M/M, McCall Pack, Robbery, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 11:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12480944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hi0ctane/pseuds/Hi0ctane
Summary: Stiles chuckled as his father waved him off from the distance, slipping into the driver’s seat of the car. He waited until the Sheriff started the car, headlights biting through the dark, growing smaller and paler by the second until they were gone entirely.The teenager closed the door behind himself and let the amused expression slide off his face, making room for one of devious glee.Time to call in the team.(Or: The master art thieves AU I didn't know I wanted, until now)





	Thieves Like Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairyfey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyfey/gifts).



> I haven't written fanfiction in a good while. This exchange really got me back on my feet! 
> 
> Written for fairyfey; beta'ed by the wonderful Joker, who saved my butt when it came to meeting the deadline :D

Lightning flashed above the high reaches of the Beacon Hills preserve, painting the night sky in bright blues and white before vanishing into electrical nothingness. The storm had been brought by the relentless advance of summer with its long, warm spells of sunlight and lack of proper wind, and it had been expected. Still, it wasn’t a favoured guest. 

“Doing a night shift on summer weeks is dull enough. Add the rain into the mix and it’s going to be a horrible night,” Sheriff Stilinski muttered to himself, finishing his coffee with his eyes on the flickering clouds outside. He was ready to give a lot for a single night in at this point, maybe stay on the couch, watch some mindless TV. Do anything but deal with drunk drivers or teenagers running away from home in abysmal weather conditions.

“I dunno,” the boy next to him said with a widening grin, munching on his late-night snack of nachos and salsa. He was already in his pyjamas, silver-grey cotton and glaring black batman logos printed all across his oversized pants, with bare, wiggling feet underneath. “Maybe you catch some baddies because they slip on the wet floor. Wouldn’t make the coolest story, though.” 

“Stop messing with your old man, Stiles,” the sheriff admonished with a smile. He ruffled the boy’s outgrown hair and made a grab for his bag. 

“You know the rules. Go to bed—“ 

“—before one AM, don’t forget to pack your lunch for school tomorrow, and don’t set the house on fire, not even in case of giant radioactive cockroaches. It’s been the same rules since I was fourteen, dad, I’ll live to see another night while you bring justice to Beacon Hills.”  
Stiles winked at his father, all easy smiles and relaxed expressions. Both of them were used to it, the separation that came with the job of a county official. It was a sole comfort for both of them, that they were used to night shifts and double times at work, and to one another. They were family. Nothing tore them apart.

“Alright. Don’t watch the latest Godzilla without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Night Dad,” Stiles said, hugging his father and then proceeding to watch his receding form, heading through the thick rain to his car. Then, like an afterthought, he smirked. 

“Don’t get into trouble with the law!” 

Stiles chuckled as his father waved him off from the distance, slipping into the driver’s seat of the car. He waited until the Sheriff started the car, headlights biting through the dark, growing smaller and paler by the second until they were gone entirely.  
The teenager closed the door behind himself and let the amused expression slide off his face, making room for one of devious glee. 

Time to call in the team. 

____________________________________

 

They all met up not twenty minutes after the Sheriff had left for duty, stepping into the living room like moving, breathing shadows. It was four of them who came for a visit: two seated at the table, and two leaning near the doorway. Everyone was trained and schooled into keeping an eye on any possible way of retreat; an emergency exit to the stage they all performed on together. 

There was Scott, who was Stiles’ best friend since childhood, sunny and open and good to the core, the very model son-in-law everyone wanted to have. In the beginning it had just been him and Stiles, two boys without guidance and with an overworked mother and father, sticking together like glue and getting into the occasional trouble with older kids. Nothing big. Nothing serious.

Until Stiles had discovered a surprising talent as he stole one of said older boys’ lunch from his backpack. In elementary school. It had been altogether too easy.

Lunch boxes had turned into homework, homework had turned into books (which were always only temporarily misappropriated; whatever they took, they tended to give back. It was part of the game, after all.) Single instances had turned into bets between one another. These small … events had turned into bigger ones, like taking the teacher’s favourite pen right from his hand without him noticing. Or making documents of the Child Protective Services disappear before Scott’s mother could get into trouble after a particular hard week at the hospital. They kept up the games for years, and, surprisingly, never got caught.

It wasn’t a long way from there to the lives of master thieves, really. 

And they had grown in numbers over the years, too. There was Scott’s girlfriend, Allison, who sat at his side, her hair drawn back into a tight ponytail and her eyes almost glowing in the low light. Allison had only recently moved into town and was the daughter of a gun nut, apparently – something that was very good to keep in mind, just in case they ever needed to get their hands on something effective (Although Stiles prided himself on the fact that they would never need to use a gun.  
You had to be into trouble to need firearms, after all, and they were never even spotted.).  
Besides that, Allison was a definite advantage to the team: She excelled at gymnastics and could literally get everywhere, and and she was responsible for the best distractions they ever had.

Their tech guru Danny had joined by almost-accident; complaining to Stiles on one study night about the unfairness of raging student debt and college costs, dreaming about being able to just afford things like college tuition without paying for it the rest of his life. It had been easy to sway him to a life of – well, crime, if one put it blandly, but high-class crime. Danny wasn’t with them in the field, but he was a brilliant hacker. There were more than enough ways for him to help out.

And lastly, leaning in the doorway, was Stiles’ pride and joy – Prom Queen and all-out genius Lydia Martin, mastermind of literally everything she touched. Lydia had been the only person that had managed to see through their game right from the start, back when it had just been him and Scott; she had breezily announced that she wasn’t sure what Stiles secret was, but that she wanted to be in on it – or else. They had never even discussed the ‘or else’, because Stiles had been over the moon by the opportunity to recruit Lydia to their cause. He hadn’t regretted it even once.

They were a team – the best of teams, really. What had started as a small act of rebelliousness had grown into something bigger, something all-encompassing. It included listening to the police transmissions on a regular basis and making artworks and jewels disappear as if into thin air, only to reappear at a later date (preferably after a certain amount of bribe had been paid. Stiles was creative with his messages for owners and police, and made sure nobody was hurt in the process of their raids. It was his one main rule.)

Tonight would be no different; they already had the pictures of the museum’s front and back on the table, together with Lydia’s detailed plan of operation. Danny checked the camera feed on his tablet; Stiles didn’t have to look across his shoulder to figure that he was knee-deep in calculations and maps, picking out the best route between cameras, police patrols and curious eyes. He probably wasn’t quite Lydia-level of genius, but Danny had been a hacker for longer than Stiles knew him, and that was quite some time.

It’s gonna be so easy, he thought with a smirk. In, out, profit. He even said it.

Lydia didn’t share his enthusiasm, however. She raised a brow at him.

“Easy? Maybe. If you don’t run into any unexpected trouble. Or the Pack.”

Stiles made a face at the mention. Of course, the Pack - a mysterious group of phantom thieves that were solely responsible for more than three quarters of the disappearing art pieces in all of California. A group that left no traces and didn’t even seem to exist if not for their one simple tick – a calling card, left at the scene of the robbery, a piece of paper with simple grey letters on a black base and the likeness of a wolf’s head in the background. And really, Stiles didn’t like to be petty, but the Pack drove him up the wall more than once, without ever having seen them live in action. And yet he was filled with awe.

“Nah, man. Why should they go for such a small museum?” he tried to reason. 

“Because this ‘small museum’, as you so delicately put it, holds one of the biggest presentations in the art world in Beacon Hills this year. Including more than just one rarity. If the Pack goes for anything, they will go for this.” 

“But not on this night. Come on, the weather is anything but inviting,” Stiles shot back, ignoring Lydia’s gentle scoff at his never ending enthusiasm. He looked at his team with a flash of pride growing inside of him. Scott shrugged his shoulders with an easy smile, and Allison nodded her head thoughtfully. Danny was back behind his computer screen, busy.

They were ready.

“Let’s get this party started!”

________________________________

They took the jeep, because they always did; it was the one trusted vehicle that fit all four of them and didn’t belong to anyone’s parent, ultimately leading to uncomfortable questions neither of them wanted to answer. Lydia was in the passenger seat, filing her nails; Scott and Allison took the back, already going over the equipment they’d need for the run. 

Danny stayed behind, comfortably in Stiles’ room, following them via the joy of GPS senders and his trusted tablet. If needed he could contact either of them via Bluetooth speaker, originally property of Allison’s dad. 

Good thing he never noticed them missing. 

The museum raid had been long planned by them – a quick in and out mission that had been prompted by the uncomfortable fact that the owner of the museum funnelled state-sent money into his own, private gains, which they had stumbled upon quite by accident. The newspapers didn’t know (yet, Stiles told himself with glee; this was all part of their plan, after all), and it would be near impossible to secretly inform the needed instances to finally react to the deed. While none of them were particularly inclined to support Beacon Hills government, they knew that they had to do something, and Lydia had begun to spin the plan almost immediately: Get one of the rare pieces from the museum to draw attention, send a message about bribe money and almost randomly add a sentence or two about the discriminating evidence they had. Then wait. 

Then take the money they’d get from the museum’s owner out of fear, and still tell the news stations about the diverged millions. For some reason and everything they preached, they always had a tendency to believe a group of master thieves more than any innocent children. 

Stiles didn’t mind anymore, really. A little Robin Hood was pretty much his style anyway.

The rain still came down in sheets as they slowly approached the back streets near the museum. Lydia was the first to exit, well-hidden underneath her scathingly pink umbrella (despite the rain finally letting up, having receded to nothing but a faint drizzle at this point) and heading towards the house without a second glance back. Stiles – now in his more appropriate clothes, black jeans and a hooded sweater – waited until she had rounded the corner, turning to Scott and Allison. 

“Everyone in the clear what their role is?” 

They nodded in unison, a grin already tugging at their lips. Stiles could relate to it; the thrill of the hunt was already making him giddy, made his heart rate go up and his fingers tingle. He returned the nod gleefully, going over the plan of the night in his head. 

Lydia was not only their distraction, in case anyone happened to show up; she was mostly out to use the little laser Danny had hander her earlier, which would be a terrific way to blind the camera above the back door from a secure position. Then she would continue inside, headed for the control room that was empty at this time of evening, and flick the switch that controlled the window alarm before disappearing outside again. 

Once camera and alarm were out of order, Scott, Allison and Stiles would go inside. Danny had mapped the interior well and had gone over it countless times, so they knew exactly how fast they had to move, where the night shift was headed, and how to take out the alarm that would protect the centrepiece they wanted, a painting named ‘Going West’. Stiles had looked at it before and seriously? He hadn’t been impressed. Still, it was a loan from another famous museum, and they would surely want it back. Making it disappear was a really good way of attracting attention to their cause.

Stiles could see the flash of the laser in the distance and opened the door, casually strolling outside and walking down the hazy back street. Each of them would take a different window to minimalize the dangers of being caught during their entrance – Scott and Allison took two to the south, Stiles headed further west, closer to the storage areas. He loved these moments the most – the thrill that shot through him as he approached the corner, eyes up and already localizing the window, looking for the little red dot that would tell him about the alarms still in order, that would die once Lydia was finished inside – 

Only that it was out already. Stiles did a double take, but it was clear to see – the alarm was off. The window was open. And three figures were approaching the walls of the museum above him.

His jaw dropped. He clearly saw three hooded figures, wearing masks, moving with a strange grace that made him think of the word superhuman – too quick and altogether too controlled in their motions, leaping from one rooftop to the other like a whole pack of devious Santa Clauses. Stiles could only gawk as they reached the windows. Two slipped in soundlessly. A third remained behind, and his masked face turned towards Stiles. 

He could see the likeness of a wolf, pitch-black and gleaming wet in the now drying surroundings, before the man ducked into the window, too. Stiles cursed. 

So the Pack was here already. 

________________________

Later, much later in fact, Scott would ask him why he didn’t call off the heist then and there. Never before had they be disturbed by a fellow team of thieves going for the same target; following them in was either very daring or very, very stupid. After all none of them had any idea how the Pack was going to behave when cornered inside the targeted place. They could play nice, or fight for the objects at hand. 

And still, calling off the raid was the farthest thing from Stiles’ mind at this moment. He felt a flash of anger at the opposed phantom thieves who had the gall to steal from them – well, not exactly steal from them, but steal what they wanted to take, what they had planned to take in great detail. He ground his teeth and squinted up into the bleak sky, eyeing the window before falling into movement: upwards. He slipped into the window behind the Pack, keeping it open, following the light trail of wet footprints he could still see, despite only having the faint emergency lighting to guide his way.

His earpiece crackled to life, and Danny’s calm voice guided him like a beacon. Their hacker had full access to the cameras inside the building, thanks to Lydia, and while he did not redirect their pattern, he could tell them exactly where to step. Stiles briefly considered telling him about the Pack, about the fact that they weren’t alone in here, but he swallowed around the words. Danny would just freak out on him, maybe inform the others. 

And Stiles still wanted the piece he had been coming for. 

He moved from one corridor to one of the exhibition rooms, immediately stepping out of the doorway and into the shadows that kept him from the camera’s gaze. The night crew of the museum was no more than a skeleton crew – he didn’t expect to run into them. Carefully he navigated around two more flashing cameras, footprints of the Pack forgotten, when he heard muffled voices. One of them clearly was Scott’s. 

Shit. Here it goes. 

Stiles momentarily threw caution into the wind and rushed around the next corner, following his friend’s voice. He skidded to a halt and immediately lifted his hand in a calming motion. Scott and Allison were there, opposite the three strangers he had seen at the window, and all of them appeared to be pretty tense.

“What the hell are you doing here,” Scott hissed, looking like he was ready to pick a fight, despite the fact that they had to be quiet and quick. One of the three masked men snorted, making an aborted gesture with his hand.

“Get lost. I got no business with you,” he said behind his black mask, and his voice was low and powerful. Stiles could get a good look at them, here – the wolf faces were strangely elegant half-masks that left the lower part of the faces uncovered and were tied behind their heads, most likely. All three of them wore hoods and looked… well, not particularly mysterious. The one talking had a sharp jawline, dark stubble and pretty perfect teeth he displayed in an uncanny sneer. He sounded younger than Stiles had expected. 

“We were here first-“ 

“And?” another of the masked guys challenged. He had blonde hair sticking above the wolf’s likeness, poked Scott into the ribs with a long, gloved finger. “You think that’s gonna stop us? Who even are you folks?” 

“Whoa, whoa, everyone calm down now. We’re not here to start trouble with you,” Stiles interjected, stepping forward and flushing slightly as all heads turned to him. The first masked dude to speak – Stiles just dubbed him the Leader inside his head, because he clearly was making the pace inside his little gang – looked him up and down, from his hooded, but uncovered face down to his jeans and sneakers. He scoffed. 

“Even if you wanted, I doubt that you could,” he said with a sneer. “You know who we are, don’t you?” 

“You’re the Pack,” Stiles said calmly, finding his footing opposite the guy. If he wanted to make this a discussion, he could very well have it. “Dude, you’re kind of easy to make out, with that wolf gig you got going on. Still, my buddy’s right – we were here before you, or, well, with you, and we got just as many dibs on the stuff as you do. So don’t make this a scene. We just want one piece…”

“And you expect us to just hand it over to you?” Stiles couldn’t see much of his eyes below the mask from where he stood, not really, but he was pretty sure that the guy’s brow shot up like he had listened to an unexpected joke. 

“Well, yeah? Come on, we’re workers of the same trade. We can help each other out a little. And it’s not like you three can carry every piece of art from this place –“

“We don’t need to. Only the really valuable things,” Blondie threw in from the side, crossing his arms. The third masked predator shook his head and huffed, which almost sounded like laughter. Almost. 

But their leader motioned for them to be quiet. 

“Listen up,” he said lowly, taking a step towards Stiles, up into his personal space. He didn’t have any impressive, towering height, though – just his muscled frame, which already looked pretty impressive below the dark cotton of his hoodie. Stiles wouldn’t mind seeing more – 

That was another topic altogether, though.

“You may think that we’re, what? Work colleagues? But I assure you, I have no interest in sharing our gains with you. We work alone-“

“Well tough luck, strong guy, because you clearly signed up for a little one-on-one shared mission here,” Stiles shot back with the widest, cheekiest smile he could. He could almost hear the frown on the other’s face, and despite the press of time that was still in the back of his head he was making his own step forward. Challenging the other. 

“We’re not going to stand back and let you take everything while we watch. We’re just after a single piece - Going West. By all means, you and your group can have the rest.”

“Going West? By Pollock?” Leader said, and Stiles just supplemented the expression of disbelief that had to be on his face below that mask, judging from his tone. Oh, so he had done his homework. Pretty good. 

“Looks like you got a brain below that wolf-head. Yeah, Pollock. We got our eyes on that one, and we’re gonna take it. If you want the rest, be my friggin’ guest,” Stiles said, tone dipping lower into the faintest hint of a growl. He looked straight ahead and saw eyes behind the mask, a pretty shade of hazel-green, that widened in surprise at his words. “I’m not going to make you lose your job, here.”

“Oh, how very graceful of you,” Leader murmured back, leaning in. He turned his head, regarded Blondie and the third man who was built like a damned wardrobe and looked like he could take down Scott and Allison with one quick sweep of his arms, before looking back at Stiles, into his eyes. They were close enough to share a breath now, expressions locked and eyes sparkling in the low light that illuminated the room around them. Stiles realized that he began to forget all about his team and the danger they were in – those eyes were really, really distracting.

“What if I am not going to accept, though?” he purred. “What if I am going to fight you and your little misfits for the Pollock? Make this a thief-off?”

Stiles swallowed thickly, eyes darting from his gaze to his lips, then back. Thief-off? He shook his head slightly, then opened his mouth.

“Listen here you-“, he began, but a crackle of static let him fall silent. 

“Quick. We’ve been compromised,” a female voice said from out of nowhere, and all three members of the Pack whipped into motion. There was the sound of distant footfalls, someone running. 

“I take care of the guards,” Leader said to his two men. The Wardrobe gave a grunt that was half acceptance and half ignorance and gave Blondie a quick shove. 

“Get what we came for. Two rooms ahead. Quick.” 

Stiles felt his blood run cold. Compromised? Of course; everything had been going a little too easy. He turned to Scott and Allison. 

“I help out. Get the Pollock and we’re outta here,” he said, tying his black scarf around his face to obscure most of his features. Nobody knew if they had any cameras on them, taking any pictures that could later be seen by officials. 

The footfalls drew closer as Allison turned, dragging Scott after her and from the room. Stiles was glad his team was so quick to react. They could still get out. 

“Lydia,” he said into his earpiece, muttering under his breath, “get out of here. Do you here? Get away from here, get the jeep. We got to dash from here.” 

“Agreed,” Lydia said, sounding breathless. “There’s an unconscious guard and a girl with a fox mask. Just in case this is any news to you.” 

Wolf, Stiles thought. It’s probably a wolf mask. Of course the Pack had to have their own Lydia, too.  
“Get to safety. We collect the piece and then we’re out –“ 

Light from the corridor made him flinch. Someone was shouting ‘freeze’ into the room, and Stiles felt himself gasp as the first punch landed. It came from Wardrobe-Guy, which didn’t really surprise him, and made the guard fall back at least two steps. 

“Here we go,” Leader said, and threw him a lopsided grin that made Stiles’ heart flutter for anything but the situation at hand.

There was the click of a released safety, and then a shot into the half-dark of the room. And shit, this was getting serious. 

“Draw back to the window!” Leader said loudly, but unhurriedly, even as he punched the second guard swiftly off his feet. He turned back to Stiles, and then gestured to the window. 

“Rooftops, now!” 

Normally Stiles would have stood his ground. He wasn’t joking around, and he sure as hell wasn’t taking orders on a good day, but the situation was getting out of hand. Blondie came running from another room, all long leaps and trained, perfect gait, two middle-sized canvasses under his arms and head ducked as if it would help him hide. Scott and Allison followed short after, Allison’s arms wrapped around the leather-bound canvas. 

Score. 

“Get out of the window,” Stiles told all three, as if they needed some additional inspiration to do so. He recoiled again as he heard more footsteps coming down towards them. More guards. 

“We flee across the rooftops—“ 

“Are you insane?” Scott gasped, staring out of the window and towards the next house. Even if it wouldn’t be a good eight feet jump towards the next roof – which it definitely was – the shingles were still wet and wouldn’t offer a good stand for them. 

“Do you have a better idea?” wolf-mask-Leader hissed, all but grabbing Blondie and pushing him closer toward the window. With just one canvas in hand (and the other left behind for his teammates) he assessed the distance, moved back a bit, ran – and jumped. 

Smooth, Stiles had to admit, feeling simultaneously impressed and a little sick to the stomach. Sure, the way across the roof would be the best for them, with the rain completely stopped and nobody expecting them to flee that way. That didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to be a little terrified of the jump. 

“I got this,” Allison said, taking the wrapped-up image from Scott’s hand and following Blondie with speed and grace of a gymnast. Stiles felt real envy at that. Seriously. 

“God damn it.” 

Scott looked as pale as Stiles felt, but he readied himself for the run. And just in time – they could both hear the sound of fighting from the adjacent room, Leader- and Wardrobe Guy already up in another skirmish. 

“You think we should trust them and go with them?” Scott asked under his breath. Stiles just shrugged. 

“Jump, idiot.”

And Scott did. 

“Let’s go, go, go,” Stiles called to the fighters, only to be met by a sound that was clearly a guy going down. A guard fell to the floor, unconscious; Leader turned towards Stiles. 

“Boyd, you first.” 

Wardrobe-Guy – who was apparently named Boyd, but Stiles was already growing attached to his nicknames, thank you very much – nodded sharply, breaking into a run and breezing past Stiles. Which left only him and the Leader, together. 

His knees were beginning to get really weak, but he had to do the jump. 

“Come on,” Leader pressed behind him. He grabbed the second piece Blondie had left behind, and listened. "More will come any second. Jump. There’s no time.” 

“I hate my life choices so much right now,” Stiles told him before turning back to the window. He heaved a breath, then moved, ran like his life depended on it. Swooped across the windowsill and into the cold night air, arms outreached and – 

Grasping stone and an outstretched hand that heaved him upwards to the roof, towards safety. Wardrob- no, Boyd, looked at him from behind his pitch-black mask. Smirking.

“Nice jump.” 

He drew Stiles away from the ledge as Leader followed, his jump looking easy and graceful when compared to Stiles, well, effective flailing. He landed on his feet, one hand outreached, head lifted immediately. 

“Keep going,” he said, and herded them into a run. 

____________________________

Despite being generally amazing at keeping track of everything, and priding himself with it, Stiles quickly felt like he lost track of the exact way. His only advantage was that he was still in contact with Danny, safely back at his home, running comms and informing him that Lydia (and the Pack-girl that had been with her, apparently) had safely gotten out and were en route to… well, somewhere safe, that seemed to be the same place as the one they were heading to. Neither of them seemed to be entirely sure where exactly that was supposed to be, but as long as it was away from the prying eyes of the law and out of the firing range it was pretty fine by Stiles, really. They just needed to make their distance before they could split up again, safely away from the turmoil. 

And maybe rest a little. Stiles was beginning to feel a burning sensation in his lungs, breathless from being hunted across the rooftops like prey. The Pack was behind them; likely to keep an eye on the other thieves, but also to watch if they were being followed. The pace they were setting was fierce, and still, Stiles couldn’t deny that he was thankful to submit to this level of guidance. 

For now. 

“Slow down,” the leader called behind them, and Stiles almost immediately did. His eyes went to Scott and Allison, who were still wary and as out of breath as he felt. Strangely enough the Pack didn’t even seem to have broken out in sweat. Assholes. 

There was a window below their feet, and Boyd easily kicked it open before slipping into the room. Blondie followed, carefully handing his partner the images and only then slipping in. Scott hesitated, seeking confirmation in Stiles. 

“Get in,” Stiles said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m with you in a second.” 

Scott hesitated, but Allison – taking his arm softly, pressing her nails into the jersey of his sweater and nodding towards the window – made him relent. Both of them disappeared inside the house. 

Stiles looked down towards the street and saw his car approaching. So Lydia would be here, soon, too.

“Okay, I admit it. That was pretty wild,” he said suddenly, turning his head to the Leader, who was taking off his mask with a wide smirk. The face underneath was angular and more than just a little pretty, with those breath-taking eyes and a shock of slicked-back, black hair. Stiles had committed these features to memory back when they had met the first time, months ago. He’d already been a thief, then, and the other had been, too, running across one another in the dead of the night of a club, starting to talk with a strange, easy confidence Stiles had never felt before. A single meeting and turned to another, and confessions had followed when Stiles, inside the other’s flat, had come across a tell-tale bundle of rope and gear that reminded him just too well of his own. They shared their secrets in the dark, smiling at the strange coincidence of it. They had only never come across each other at work, until now. 

But really, as if he could ever not recognize Derek Hale, his secret boyfriend, wearing a wolf-face or not.

“Oh yeah? You call that wild already? And here I thought I have to up the ante-“ 

“Babe, you can do whatever you want, you won’t end up stunting me. Although I have to hand it to you, your gang is pretty impressive. I’m not asking where you got them.” 

“And I’m not telling,” Derek replied, stepping up into his personal space again and curling an arm around Stiles’ waist, protective and possessive all at once. The teen chuckled quietly before letting himself fall into a kiss, long and drawn-out, passionate and warm. He felt his heart flutter in his chest as he closed his arms around Derek’s form, ignoring the voices from the room below, the completely scandalized ‘Dude, they are what?!’ coming from Scott.

Good thing that he had stolen the other’s heart long ago already. He didn’t plan on giving it back anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this surely deviated from the origin a little. I seriously hope you could still enjoy it, fairyfey - it had been an absolute pleasure to write this prompt for you! :D
> 
>  
> 
> (Original prompt: "Derek's team and Stiles' team are both trying to break into the same place on the same night, only to run into each other and must negotiate what happens next, who gets what etc. and possibly team up again?")


End file.
